Broken Glass, Broken Promise
by Esmarias
Summary: Sometimes people break their promises. Maybe it's intentional, or maybe it isn't. Or maybe it's because that person is broken, too. KPlus 'cause I'm paranoid.


"_As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let us down, probably will." ~Unknown_

**Broken Glass, Broken Promise**

Eleven-year-old Michael Stoker sat at the kitchen table while his older sister cleaned off his face. He sighed. The damp cloth felt so good. As she pulled it away, Mike saw the light smears of crimson that stained against the white.

"Almost done," His sister said softly. Mike didn't answer and shifted his eyes downward to stare at his hands. The only sounds that followed were that of his sibling scraping her chair back, walking over to the sink, washing the cloth and wringing it out another time. Then she returned to her chair at the table and gently dabbed at Mike's face. The cut was long and deep, running from near the corner of his right eye and down his cheek. It had bled some, but fortunately, it didn't look as if it would leave a remaining scar.

"I'll wash the cloth tonight," 15-year-old Liz was saying. "That way it won't stain and mother won't have a fit."

Mike merely nodded, still gazing at his hands.

His sister sighed. "You know it was an accident, don't you?" she asked him.

"I know," Mike whispered.

Liz tilted her head, searching for her brother's bright blue eyes.

Mike raised his to meet concerned brown ones. "It hurt, Liz," he said, so softly that she almost missed it.

They had been playing in the backyard. Liz was trying to rescue her proverbial prince charming from the grasp of the evil lord that had him captured. Mike was the evil lord and the two were using sticks for swords. Mike had accidentally hit his sister's sword hard enough to snap it in half. The next thing he knew, the new, pointed and sharp end of Liz's stick had flashed in front of his line of vision and slashed up his face. It was all in play, of course; she had seen her opportunity and taken advantage of it. The stick just went the wrong way, is all. Mike had fallen to the ground, and his face landed on his stick, so he got a split bottom lip as well. At least, that's what he had told their older brother JC when he asked what happened.

"I do love you, Michael," Elizabeth said.

Mike once again averted his gaze. "I know," he repeated his earlier response.

Liz got up. Going first to the refrigerator, she pulled out the milk and set it on the counter. Then she went to the cupboard for a couple of glasses.

"Want some milk?" She asked him. Mike didn't reply. Liz sighed again. She wished he would talk more. It was a little unnerving – boys shouldn't be so quiet! But then, Michael had grown extremely quiet since...

'_No,'_ Liz mentally stopped herself. Twisting her neck, she looked over her shoulder. Mike wasn't watching – instead, he was drawing invisible lines with his fingers on the surface of the small table. Could he be thinking about Tyler, too?

Michael and Ty had been so close. Mike had been the younger boy's role model. Liz felt a surge of anger shoot through her. So now what? Did he think that he was 'stuck' with Liz and JC now? They were his family!

'_But Ty was family, too.'_ she reminded herself. Sighing, she screwed the cap back onto the milk and put it away.

Mike heard the glass being put down in front of him. Honestly, he wasn't very thirsty, bu still, it had been a thoughtful act. He glanced up at Liz as she sat down and started sipping her beverage in silence.

"Thanks," he said softly, not looking her in the eye.

Liz nodded in acknowledgment.

"I... I love you, too."

"I know you do," she said without smiling.

Mike picked up his glass of milk and swallowed some.

"I'm sorry."

His eyes widened as his taste buds registered what had hit his tongue and, dropping the glass, he shot out of his chair and ran to the sink to spit out the foul liquid before any more could course down his throat. Mike turned on the tap and stuck his mouth directly into the rushing water's path. The white, high pressured water that fell from the faucet stung his split lip as he rinsed out his mouth to erase the terrible taste. When he came back up for air, he saw, sitting there on the counter, exactly what had been mixed into his milk: dish soap.

As her brother rinsed his mouth, Liz sat calmly and quietly at the table, sipping her own untainted drink. Mike's glass had shattered when he dropped it to the floor. The glass pieces and remaining liquid had spread out in all directions, and some droplets had spattered onto the girl's skirt. She merely sat, staring into nothing, as the spilled milk pooled around the bottom of her shoes.

The sound of the glass crashing to the floor had instantly caught the attention of JC. Walking into the kitchen, the oldest of the three stood and looked over the scene. _Broken glass, milk, Liz, Mike... oh._ While not knowing the exact circumstances, JC instantly knew what had happened. Their sister had struck twice in one day.

While JC hadn't seen what happened in the backyard, he knew that his brother wasn't telling the whole story when he told him they were just playing. No, Liz had hurt Michael on purpose. Then, when he fell, she had hit him with her stick, splitting his lip. JC had seen many – _too_ many – different instances such as these occur many times since Tyler's death. Usually, JC would stop Liz from hurting Michael. But he could only protect the kid if he was around.

Their parents didn't know about it. To be honest, their step-dad probably wouldn't care. He didn't care much about anything since Tyler's death. And their mom? Liz was an angel around Cecilia Stoker. It was like the girl was the model loving and caring big sister one moment, and then the next, she would pull a dirty stunt on Mike that would end up hurting him, and not just physically. But the thing was, JC could never actually catch her doing these stunts to Mike, even though he knew she was doing them. When he was around, he could stop her. When he wasn't, he couldn't see what all she did to him, although he did see the results. Nobody but Mike knew what she would do when no-one else was with them. Mike never bad-mouthed Liz. He never tattled. JC might've applauded his character, if Mike wasn't getting hurt for it, which he was.

Cecilia hadn't believed her eldest son when he tried to tell her what was going on. And Mike had never made an accusation against Liz – not once. He didn't complain when she hurt him. The only reason he ever cried in the solitude of his room was because he wanted his real sister back. The sister who wouldn't do such horrid things to him; the sister who had gone away and been replaced by this stranger who only looked like Elizabeth; the sister who had once promised, who he had counted on, to never leave him when he needed her.

JC watched in sadness as his sister did nothing to help Michael. She rarely did after hurting him.

Mike turned off the water and gingerly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The taste wasn't completely gone, but its' intensity had lessened considerably. He only hoped that he wouldn't get sick later on from swallowing that nasty stuff.

Without a word, he went directly to the broom closet and pulled out the broom, dustpan, and a rag and basin, so as to clean up the milk and broken glass that lay across the kitchen tiles. In silence, he began sweeping the glass onto the dustpan. As he did so, JC walked into the room to help. Until just now, Mike hadn't realized his brother was even there.

JC offered to clean up the milk. Mike nodded and thanked him. As he swept up the glass and JC filled the basin with water, Elizabeth glanced at the younger boy.

"You know it was an accident, don't you?" she asked him in a cold, unsisterlike, but now familiar tone. Mike nodded.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. You know that."

"I know."

"I love you, Michael."

Mike paused in his chore to straighten and look his beloved sister directly in the eyes. "I love you, too, Liz," he said with pure honesty. Then he fell silent as he and JC worked together to clean up the mess.

The night Tyler died was the night Mike's sister left him, too. But she said that she loved him, and he believed her. Mike still loved her, too. Even if she had broken her promise to always be there for him, he still loved her. He would always love Liz, no matter what she did. But that didn't mean he didn't have to be afraid of her.

.

.

.

.


End file.
